Chapter 37 Nyte #2
At the designated room there were two guards posted outside.
I strolled up confidently, hands in my pockets, ready to make the guards open it for me and walk right in.
My steps faltered when I attempted to slip into their minds and was met by a very rare mental barrier.
They wouldn’t have the discipline to learn how to protect their minds, and there was no point in them trying to when I was the only person with the talent to infiltrate thoughts.
These two had been supplied with a starlight matter enhancement I could break through, but it would likely kill them.
No murder.
I hadn’t exactly promised Astraea, but I was trying to be good for her.
The guards immediately became alert at my approach, drawing swords. Had I known of their mind protection sooner I wouldn’t have sauntered up to them so brazenly without at least attempting to divert them away from the door to avoid a confrontation.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” one grunted, approaching me with enough hesitation to reveal their fear.
Unease began to crawl my skin. No, something stronger than unease had me resisting the impulse to head right back to Astraea. But I was right here with the trident beyond those doors, and I supposed if cause for murder didn’t find me, at least violence always would.
“On behalf of the star-maiden, thanks to the goddess’s merciful nature, I’ll grant you one opportunity to open those doors, wait until I retrieve what I need, and then scurry off to your master.”
They exchanged a glance. The second guard’s throat bobbed as he lost his valor.
“You’re Him, aren’t you?”
“I have a few names; you’ll have to be more specific as to which you’re hoping for.”
His blanching expression was all the confirmation I needed.
“Nightsdeath,” the other said, the word like a tremble from his lips.
I smiled cruelly, embodying the reputation that would always instill fear in the minds of men.
“So, do we have a deal?” I asked.
They shifted on their feet, not lowering their swords, but as much as they were loyal to their position, they knew it was over against me.
The second guard moved first, and my rising ire for the delay in getting back to my Starlight melted away the mercy she’d rubbed off on me.
I couldn’t risk the clamor of a fight or their shrieks of pain, so, right as his sword rose above my head, I shattered through the barrier of his mind, and it killed him instantly.
Magick always had a price, a balance, and in taking the Matter for protection, it killed him when it was broken.
I caught his blade before it could clang against the marble his body slumped to like a sack of wheat.
Then it left me, as I grew more impatient by the second, pinning a cold dare on the other guard who stared at his comrade in complete terror.
Specially chosen guards with no spine, I thought.
“Are you joining him or are you opening that damned door?” I said, running low on patience.
He finally straightened, breaking his fighting stance and scrambling to his side, where keys chimed.
In the room I didn’t pay the guard much attention; I’d catch his thoughts if he tried to run. It was a hall the size of a ballroom, with an impressive collection of glass cases to display all of his treasures.
I was distracted by some of the items, wondering what other rare things Vermont could have traded over the decades for this volume of objects.
Many were barbaric. I came to each grim discovery with a note of disgust.
Four sets of fangs: three for each vampire race and one for the fae.
They almost looked identical, but I was fascinated to discover the differences.
The blood vampire’s were the longest and narrowest, for a deeper puncture.
The nightcrawler’s curved at the tapered end, more effective to rip a vein or tear flesh.
The soul vampire had shorter fangs, more similar to the fae’s, but the fae’s were marginally sharper.
There was also a right-hand set of elongated nightcrawler nails; they didn’t often use those to attack humans—perhaps in battle against other species, however.
I started skimming past eyes and other body parts, celestial feathers, and hair.
There was plenty of trinkets, clothing, and such that seemed interesting, but I didn’t have time to read their origins.
Drystan would lose his mind in a place like this, lost in the collectables’ endless facts and wonders.
Then, around the next bend of cases, I stopped dead in my tracks. Slammed so hard by a wave of dizziness I couldn’t have prepared for over what I saw.
At the far end, in a big glass case on its own podium, the large black-feathered wings could have been someone else’s.
But they weren’t.
I could feel them.
My blood roared and my pulse sped up. I wasn’t used to this concoctive reaction of outrage and humiliation. I’d fully come to terms with losing my wings, but seeing them displayed there … mocking me … I didn’t need Nightsdeath’s power to lose control to blinding fury.
I glided toward them when I didn’t really feel grounded anymore.
How the fuck did Vermont Lionel, overlord of Volanis, come to possess my wings?
I was going to fucking kill him.
My wrath must have been tangible, as the guard gave a quivering sound, taking a step to retreat. The villain in me won, as I turned to become the last cold set of eyes the guard saw before he could take another step of retreat. I shattered his mind.
I stormed to the guard, pulling a dagger from his belt, and in the same breath it went flying toward the glass case, which exploded into hundreds of pieces.
My shoes crunched over them as I approached the wings, reaching a hand to them.
The moment I did, my teeth gritted and my back arched with the eruption of acute phantom pain from where they’d been brutally torn out.
I didn’t retreat, reliving that unimaginable agony through tight, hard breaths.
My fingers flexed against the lifeless feathers.
There would be no reattaching them. That had never been achieved in history, nor did I think I wanted it. The wings were a brand from Death, and by some miracle and mercy I had Eltanin now to keep flying with Astraea.
Though I wouldn’t let anyone have my wings as a fucking trophy.
Thinking of Eltanin and Astraea, I felt warmth grow under my skin deeper than the heat of my anger.
This ran through my veins, and I’d felt it before, briefly in my urgency to reach Astraea as she was being dragged deeper into the ocean.
Was it her magick? It felt familiar but in more senses than one. A silver thread wrapped in darkness.
I gripped it, feeling that magick rush to my fingertips and then scatter over the wings. It devoured them feather by feather in an inferno of dark starlight.
A fist in my chest squeezed as I watched them turn to smoke and ash, but in some tragic sense … it was also liberating.
Before they finished burning, my sight cast lazily to the side, finding a tall empty glass case. Somehow I knew what I was going to find as I approached it; the pieces were already sliding together, and I’d been a damned unwitting fool.
They had been checking our blood before we came in.
The guards at this door hadn’t seemed wholly surprised to discover me.
My wings were here … because the trident was gone.